


make this place beautiful

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kid Fic, M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9169816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: Four scenes where Nate and Brad talk about obtaining a child, and one where they've got one. (Short porn+fluff sequel to "and my glory shall be love'".)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [and my glory shall be love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/131015) by [Lake (beyond_belief)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake). 



> Title from Maggie Smith's "Good Bones".

"Remember when you almost got blown up and I had to save you?" Brad asks, applying gentle teeth to the inside of Nate's thigh and feeling the shiver that goes through him. The hands on his head flex in his hair, scratching at his scalp.

"I didn't almost get blown up, there was no bomb," Nate replies, sounding strangled. "I think you - oh, Jesus, do that again," as Brad exhales hotly against the base of his cock "- think you just liked getting to shove me down in the car."

"Mmm, maybe." Brad wiggles down further on the bed, so he can kiss the inner side of Nate's knee, then lift his leg up by the ankle. He kisses the back of Nate's knee, enjoying Nate's ticklish twitch, before running his fingertips down the pale length of Nate's thigh and cupping his ass.

"Would you please fucking hurry up and get your dick in me, we really don't have all night here, stupid museum grand gala -" Nate stops talking and his mouth drops open as Brad pushes in slowly. 

Brad grins; it's not often he can completely derail Nate's brain like that. "You were - you were saying?"

"Shut up and fuck me," Nate groans.

Brad is only too happy to; between his active duty and Nate's nine thousand speaking engagements and appearances at things like this ridiculous museum - _modern fucking art_ \- they really don't get too many chances all that often. He basically jumped Nate tonight, eyeing the clock before he did, gauging what they had time for.

Nate digs his fingers into Brad's back, breathing encouragement. Brad gets a hand between them and wraps it around Nate's cock; there's no time to draw this out. "Love you like this," he whispers in Nate's ear, and pushes with his shoulder against the back of Nate's knee, flexing his leg even more. 

"I'm not going to be able to _walk_ ," Nate hisses, but he's clenching around Brad and one hand is gripping at the sheets. "Come on, come on."

Brad goes a little harder, a little faster, and Nate lets out something close to a wail. "When we get home, I'm gonna -" he starts, but can't finish the thought, because Nate's coming, hot into Brad's hand. "Fuck, yeah."

"Would you just come in me already," Nate pants, and Brad absolutely loves the filthy things that come out of his mouth sometimes. Nate yanks his head down and kisses him hard, and Brad gets a couple more thrusts in before his orgasm rushes through him. 

Nate breathes hot against his neck. "Finally."

"Shut up." But he's laughing as he says it.

Nate presses a kiss to his jaw, then pushes at his chest. Brad pulls out carefully and rolls off of him. "If we shower together will that save time, or waste it?" Nate asks, then says, "Nevermind, why am I even asking that question? Go use the guest room bathroom, and be fast."

Brad sits up and surveys the mess they'd made of the bed. "Why do I have to go to this again?"

"Hmm, because you love me?" Nate winks and gets up. He rolls his shoulders, then stretches his neck from side to side. Brad spends a moment wishing he could have marked Nate up a little.

"Get up, Brad, right now," Nate orders as he heads for the bathroom.

Brad gives it a second, until Nate hollers, "Now!" over the sound of the shower, then grins to himself and gets up. He strips the bed quickly and drops the bundle of sheets in the hamper as he passes it, and pads down the hallway to the guest bathroom. He washes off quickly under cool water, then eyes himself in the mirror. He can probably get away with not shaving. 

Nate's in the walk-in closet, wearing only boxers and flicking through his suits. He smells good. "Wear the gray one," Brad suggests, dropping a kiss on his shoulder. 

"Yeah, good choice. What are you wearing?"

Brad's going to wear dress pants and a matching vest, but he's definitely not bothering with a jacket, no matter what faces Nate makes at him. It's an art museum, not Congress. They dress quickly, and put socks and shoes on sitting side-by-side on the bed. Brad leans down to buff a small scuff mark from Nate's wingtip with his thumb, and feels Nate's hand settle on the back of his neck. "Yes?" he asks, sitting up again.

"When we get back, we're talking about the kids thing."

"It'll be late," Brad points out. It's not that he doesn't want to discuss it, but maybe not at midnight when they've both had a few glasses of wine. That might lead to adopting six kids and a litter of puppies all at once. 

Nate counters with, "It's Friday and you don't have work tomorrow."

"Point, Nate."

Nate smoothes a hand over Brad's vest. "Well. How about we see how we feel after the thing, okay?"

"Okay." Brad drops a kiss on Nate's half-open mouth, then reaches to grab the nearly forgotten wristwatch off the nightstand and buckle it onto Nate's wrist for him. "Guess we should go before Ray starts laying on the horn."

*

"We should at least ask my sister," Nate says as he pulls another towel out of the dryer to fold. "I think she'll say no, but knowing her, she'll be happy that we asked her. And then she'll cry."

"Yeah, she'll cry," Brad echoes, nodding. "Remember when she cried at the wedding?"

Nate chuckles, shaking his head at the memory. "We had the _least_ romantic wedding anyone could have. And yet..."

"Crying everywhere." Brad adds the last towel to the pile and carries it to the linen closet. When he's put them away on their designated shelf, he says, "So she'll say no, and there's no one in my family who I'd even want to ask to carry a baby for us, so that leaves - what? Outside surrogacy or adoption?"

Nate closes the dryer and leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest. The gold band gleams on his left hand and Brad gets the same feeling he always does at seeing it, that cross between _I am the luckiest_ and _how did I pull this off?_. It's been more than a year, and being married to Nate hasn't lost it's shine. Brad hopes it never will. 

"So I'm not entirely sure about you," Brad says, "but I think there are enough kids that don't have families already, and even without making an outright, active statement about it, we could at least shed a little light on that, if we adopt. Just by you being you."

The smile that spreads across Nate's face is huge. "Oh good," he sighs, and Brad starts shaking his head and laughing, because of course Nate had been basically waiting for him to say it. 

"I mean, I turned out okay, right?" he asks.

"I guess," Nate teases. He reaches out and snags the front of Brad's shirt. "Come here, Mr. Glass Case of Emotions."

Brad slides his arms around Nate's waist. "Who, me?" 

He nuzzles his face against Nate's neck above the soft collar of his weekend t-shirt. Nate smells like laundry detergent and coffee, and that works for him. Brad can remember the cologne he used to wear, something sharp-spicy, an announcement of his presence. Nate doesn't need that anymore, here in a house in California where they do their own laundry and make all their own meals and have spent the last two months talking in circles around the idea of talking about kids. Brad presses a kiss to the skin just underneath his ear and says, "Also, there's the possibility that we're really just too old to start with a brand-new baby."

He can feel Nate shake with suppressed laughter. "Are you calling me old, Colbert?"

"You know it, Sir."

Nate's hand slides up the back of Brad's shirt. He traces over the bumps of Brad's spine. "Is your back in good enough shape to pick up a kid? Didn't they leave you on a desk job?"

Brad nips at Nate's earlobe, refusing to take the bait. "I might as well retire," he breathes into Nate's ear, feeling him shiver. "Somebody's got to stay home with the kid while you're on all your book tours."

Nate pulls back slightly to smile at him. "The idea of you as a stay-at-home dad is making me feel all mushy inside, stop it."

"And you think _I'm_ the marshmallow," Brad replies, sliding one hand back around to toy with the button of Nate's jeans. "Did you have plans this afternoon? Because we should go to bed so I can show you just how okay my back is."

*

In the rearview mirror, Brad sees Ray look from him to Nate to him again. Then Ray says, "You guys okay?" so quietly that Brad barely hears it over all the chatter in his head, where the lawyer's words are running on loop. 

"We're fine, Ray," Nate says in his absent voice, and Brad sees Ray raise his eyebrows at no one. Ray starts the car and backs out of the parking spot without another word.

"That was... a lot more rules than I expected," Nate says after a few minutes of silence. "Now I'm worried - what if the kid they place with us doesn't _like_ us? And who the fuck am I going to get to write reference letters?"

Before Brad can say anything, Ray's started to laugh, loud and whooping and Brad's afraid for one-third of a second that Ray might go off the road. "You guys, what the fuck," Ray gasps. "You were the fucking _Vice President_ and you're worried about getting someone to write you a reference letter? Nate, I really think you could get about fifteen Heads of State to write you a reference."

"Do you really think California would accept a letter from Angela Merkel, Ray," Brad says dryly. He'd done up his shirt for the meeting, but now he unbuttons the top two and loosens the collar away from his neck a little. 

"Dudes. Have your moms write the letters." Ray pauses for a moment. "Plus Merkel."

Brad smiles at that and feels slightly less terrified. "Could you imagine the look on some poor social worker's face if she got mail from the Chancellor of Germany? _Dear State of California, you voted for this man to be in the second highest office in the country, yet you question his fitness for fatherhood_."

"Alright, alright," Nate says, chuckling. 

Ray glances at them in the mirror again. "So you have to go through the same process as the plebes, huh?"

"Fingerprints, reference letters, our marriage certificate, a complete - and I quote - health and social history, as if I don't have an extensive biography freely available on Wikipedia, and a home visit to show that the house isn't covered in knives or whatever." Nate sighs, and Brad squeezes his hand, then lifts it to kiss Nate's knuckles.

"Just the uniform swords above the TV," Ray says, merging onto the highway. 

"Those are decorative," Brad replies. "Where the fuck are you driving to?"

"We're getting ice cream." Ray meets his gaze in the mirror as if daring Brad to argue, so Brad just shakes his head and pulls at Nate's hand a little so that Nate leans against him, a warm and familiar weight. 

He noses gently at Nate's ear. "You really ready for this?" he murmurs. 

"What, ice cream?"

"This process."

Nate turns his head slightly and Brad can see a smile threatening his mouth. "Well, you did point out that it can't be any more difficult than a campaign, and no one's tried to kill me since I left office so that should be a point in our favor. Plus you've already childproofed the house."

"No, I just fixed the bathroom outlet." Brad pinches his side.

Nate's face is very close and he's smiling outright now. "Uh-huh."

"You guys are lucky I'm used to your PDA," Ray says, turning the sedan into a small parking lot. "We're here. And you're paying. Gotta demonstrate you can afford a kid and all that."

"One scoop vanilla for Ray, got it," Nate laughs, and Ray flips them both off.

*

"You know our sex life is going to be irreversibly altered once the State of California deigns to give us a child," Brad drawls, shifting restlessly on the sofa as Nate applies teeth to the jut of his hipbone. "No more mid-afternoon coitus."

Nate huffs a laugh against his skin, hot and damp, making Brad shiver. "You say that like we're not smart, quick-thinking men capable of finding five minutes and a bathroom," he replies, and it's Brad's turn to laugh. 

He skims a hand over Nate's head, slowing to trace the curves of his ear, watching Nate's eyes slip closed as he turns his face to nuzzle into Brad's palm. This Brad knows he will miss - these soft, lingering moments where he's reminded that marrying Nate was the best thing he's ever done, where he can turn the thought over and over in his mind, holding on to it because he loves knowing it. But he knows missing quiet moments will be okay, because there's good things coming. 

"What," Nate whispers, "you're giving me that look again."

"Your eyes aren't even open."

"I still know it." 

"I'm going to push you back down to my dick," Brad warns, but Nate just laughs and presses a line of kisses down Brad's chest and stomach, following the thin line of hair to Brad's cock. 

Brad doesn't bother trying to stifle his noises as Nate sucks his dick. He cups a hand around the back of Nate's skull but doesn't press, just sweeps his thumb over the soft skin on the back of Nate's neck. Then Nate makes a small noise and pulls back so only the head is still in his mouth, and looks up at Brad. 

"Fuck you," Brad groans, "that's not fair," and Nate chuckles around Brad's cock and slides his mouth back down.

He swallows when Brad comes, as Brad gasps out Nate's name and tries not to slide off the sofa. Nate grins at him as Brad sucks in a breath. "I have to take the advantage when I've got it, right?" he asks. 

Brad yanks him in for a kiss and undoes the button of Nate's shorts, sliding a hand into his briefs to curl around his cock. It's a familiar weight against his palm, just as Nate's soft sigh against his neck is familiar. Brad says, "Remember when we used to be able to get each other off just by saying all the dirty shit we wanted to do to each other out loud?"

"Well, we were usually fucking at the same time," Nate laughs. He rolls his hips, pushing his cock through the circle of Brad's fingers. 

"I think we've tried all the kinky stuff anyway." 

Nate mouths at his jaw. "Before we got married, even," he says, and Brad can hear the smile in his voice. "Now it's just boring married people sex."

Brad drags his thumb over the head of Nate's cock slowly, enjoying the feel of Nate shuddering against him, the scrape of teeth over his neck. He hears Nate groan his name, then say, "Stop being such a fucking tease and get me off already, Colbert," so he fits his hand around Nate's cock again.

Nate comes with the same low, choked moan as always, spilling over Brad's fingers. Brad licks most of it off just to hear Nate's quickly indrawn breath. 

Nate collapses on the couch next to him, leaning his head on Brad's shoulder. It's nice and comfortable, even if their shorts are still hanging open and their dicks are out, and sweat's cooling on the small of Brad's back and his hand is sticky with jizz. 

"Hey," he whispers after a few minutes of quiet.

"Hmm?"

"You don't ever - being out here with me isn't boring, is it?"

"I get to golf more." Nate lifts his head slightly. "You were going to ask if I ever regret moving out here." 

Brad makes a vaguely affirmative noise and rubs his palm slowly over Nate's thigh. It's not that he doesn't appreciate their fairly relaxed lifestyle here compared to D.C., and watching the stress melt out of Nate under the hot sun those first few months of civilian life is still one of Brad's most favorite and perfect memories, but it _is_ occasionally a little bit lazy. Comparatively speaking.

Nate turns his head to breathe hot against Brad's neck. "While I am aware of your occasional notions of the - the dearth of excitement here in Southern California, we'll be experiencing an entirely different level of excitement soon enough."

"True." He kisses Nate's temple. "I'll have to use less profane language, can you imagine?"

Nate laughs. "No."

*

Ray has his own key to the house so he can come and go whenever, but Kina still jumps off her chair and hides behind Brad's when he walks into the kitchen. "Seriously, every time?" Ray asks her, dropping his keys on the counter.

She looks at Brad. "Ray?"

"Yes, that's Ray. Good job." Brad strokes her hair gently, careful not to move too fast. "You can sit down again, okay?"

Ray sits down in the chair on her other side. "Hey, Brad. Hey, girl. What's happening?"

Brad's making a list of required groceries and some kid things they might still need to get, so he lets Kina answer. It's good for her; she doesn't talk much and they're working on it. "Coloring," she says finally. "And snack. Brad make."

"Yeah? Good job, Brad. I see… tater tots and ketchup."

"Like ketchup," Kina says. She drags one of the tots through the blob of it, then sticks the whole thing quickly in her mouth. Brad thinks about suggesting she take smaller bites and decides against it. He'll just cut them in half next time.

"What kid doesn't like ketchup, come on," Ray says, grinning. "What are you coloring?"

She moves the paper over so he can see. "Can you tell me what it is?" Ray asks, and Brad smiles down at his notepad.

"Princess castles."

Nate comes into the kitchen then, one hand fussing with his tie. He stops next to the table and Brad reaches up to fix the tie for him without really thinking about it, wondering why he's dressed up unnecessarily. "Hey, Ray," Nate says. "You ready for tonight?"

Ray scoffs. "I got this. Me and Kina Theresa, we're gonna have a great time. You trying out a different look there or what?"

"Giving it a shot." Nate rubs a hand over the short beard, then leans over Kina to drop a careful kiss on top of her head. "That's a good picture. Is it going on the fridge?"

Kina looks at the front of the refrigerator, where several other pictures are held up with the alphabet magnets that Nate's mom gave them. "Okay," she says after a pause, then sticks another tot in the ketchup. 

Nate crouches down next to her. His shoes squeak on the tile. "Brad and I have to go to a meeting for grown-ups tonight," he says. It's kind of a lie, but it's easier than trying to explain _date night_ to a four year-old with some attachment issues. "Ray's going to stay here with you, and watch Nemo with you, okay?"

"Come back?" she asks, like she did the last time Ray babysat. But that was a trial run - Brad and Nate had only gone to the grocery store and the closest department store for the socks and underwear Kina needed.

"When you wake up tomorrow morning, Brad and I will be home. I promise."

Brad nearly holds his breath while she thinks about it, until she nods and reaches for another crayon. "Alright, dudes," Ray says. "We'll be just fine. You know I haven't seen _Finding Nemo_ in years, kiddo?"

Kina looks doubtful at this. "I like Nemo."

"Me, too." 

This feels to Brad like a good note to slip out on. He puts the shopping list up on the fridge and the notepad back in the kitchen drawer, then says to Kina, "Do you want a hug goodbye?".

She seems to think about it for a second, then nods. Brad stoops to hug her loosely. "Can I have cookies?" she whispers in his ear, and Brad can't help his grin. 

"Sure, if you share with Ray. Deal?" He holds up his hand for a high-five.

She smacks it. "Deal." 

Brad goes to the foyer to the sound of Ray asking "What are we sharing?", followed a few seconds later by the unmistakeable clack of the cookie jar lid. Nate's a couple steps behind him, and leans against the wall, smiling. Brad slaps lightly at his thigh. "What are you grinning at?"

"You, being a marshmallow again."

"Sssh, don't give it away, come on." Brad wiggles his feet into his shoes. "Got all your shit?"

"Yeah. Feels weird leaving without like eighty pounds of kid stuff, though," he says, and Brad chuckles. "Should we yell goodbye, or do you think Ray's distracted her?"

"They're distracted, let's sneak out. I'll text Ray from the car." 

When they're at home, bumming around in shorts, it's easy to forget that he's married to a former Vice President, but driving past the guard shack of their gated community never fails to remind him. Now that he's decided not to carry when Kina's with them, and keeps their firearms locked up, there are only a few places that Brad feels safe going with Nate when he's unarmed. Especially without the extra protection of Ray's concealed Glock. But they're going somewhere new tonight, so he's wearing the Beretta in an ankle holster, just in case.

Nate glances over like he knows what Brad's thinking. "You talk to Mike lately?"

"Last week, actually."

"And?"

"And he asked if I was still enjoying not getting shot at," Brad says dryly, and Nate laughs. "But he didn't have anything new to report. Guess all the crazies are busy with new politicians."

"Good. Well, not _good_. You know what I mean." Nate reaches over with his free hand and squeezes Brad's arm. "I hope this restaurant is okay."

"I don't even care what the food is like as long as it's not served with ketchup," Brad groans. "If I never see ketchup again, it'll be too soon."

Nate's laughing at him. "Kids her age love it. But this is fancy expensive food, so I think you'll be safe."

"Is that why you wore a tie?" 

"You know, I still can't get out of the damned habit." Nate makes a face, clearly at himself. "It's new. My sister sent it for my birthday, I think she meant it as a joke."

Brad shakes his head. "Looks good, though. Definitely your color." 

Nate's eyeroll is obvious even though he's watching the road. Brad rearranges himself more comfortably in the seat. "Sure you want to go to this fancy restaurant?" he asks.

"Where would we go instead?"

"There's a taco truck four blocks west of here, and you can park by that law office right there, no one parks there on the weekend."

"Did you look that up on your phone?"

"Nate, it's called _reconnaissance_." Brad feels rather proud of the way Nate laughs at that, and changes lanes so he can turn right at the stoplights and drive in the direction of the food truck. 

In between bites of spicy chicken, Nate says, "Do you think we should get a dog?"

Brad stops with his taco halfway to his mouth. "You want to get a dog?"

"Kids like dogs, right? My nephews love theirs. And that dog would run into a fire for them."

"Maybe we should ask Kina first," Brad suggests after he's finished the taco, brushing his fallen lettuce bits into a pile on the waxed paper wrapper. "Like, make sure she doesn't have some weird canine phobia or something."

Nate's nodding. There's a dot of sour cream at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. Why are you giving me that look?"

Brad smiles, easy. "You've got sour cream on your face."

Nate scrubs it off, then says, "If the dog is a no-go, what about a cat?"

"Again, we should confer with Her Highness." He crumples the wrapper and drops it into the takeout bag. "She seems more like a cat kid, don't you think? A puppy might be too hyper for her."

"On the other hand, a puppy might draw her out a little more."

"Point, sir," Brad chuckles, and Nate smacks at his thigh. Brad looks at him, the familiar angles of his face and hands, and smiles again. His heart is still so full, overflowing. "You know Ferrando once told me I couldn't do better than you."

Nate's expression turns surprised, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "Really? When did he say that?"

"While you were getting your shoulder stitched up at George Washington." 

"That feels like forever ago," Nate sighs, tilting his head back against the seat. The sun visor casts a shadow across his face and Brad sees a few silver hairs glinting in his beard. "A different life, you know?" 

"A life where you didn't have to cook dinner almost every night." Brad reaches over and curls his fingers over Nate's. 

Nate chuckles and says, "You're the one that's retired, you should have to cook," but turns his hand over to squeeze Brad's.

**Author's Note:**

> Six and a half years later, sure, why not?


End file.
